


Good Fortune Attend

by DreamingPagan



Series: To Drive the Cold Winter Away [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: AU, And James Acquires a Thomas, Bitty James, Bitty Thomas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, In Which Hennessey is Doomed, In Which Hennessey is Really Just a Big Softie, Pre-Canon, blatant fluff, family fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:57:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8545288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan
Summary: Admiral Hennessey should very probably check his luggage a bit more carefully before heading home for the holidays. Fortunately for Thomas, he does not. In which Thomas Hamilton is sent to sea instead of staying at home and acquires a new family in his own inimitable fashion.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shirogiku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/gifts).



> This one is for Shirogiku, whose birthday is today. Happy Birthday, Shiro!

December, 1688:

He was doomed.

It was, Hennessey thought with a certain sense of resignation, his own fault entirely. It was he who accepted the boy aboard his ship. He, for some reason unknown even to him, who, upon hearing of Lord Alfred Hamilton’s decision regarding his eldest son, had elected to take the boy aboard his ship and he who had asked James to show the older lad around, acquaint him with his duties, and show him to his hammock. To this day, he was not certain why he took the decision, although he suspected in the dark of the night that he did it for the same reason that he had effectively adopted James - the look on the boy’s face, full of hurt and fear and stubborn determination even in the face of his father’s rejection. He had not wanted to join the Navy, but then few boys volunteered for the Service by another did, and he had taken to it with no less alacrity than any other of the Mids. He had largely ignored the lad for the first few weeks, but he remembered thinking that the boy was exceptionally polite for the son of such a prize turd as Alfred Hamilton. He remembered, too, the first time he’d truly noticed the lad after he’d come aboard - the first time he’d run afoul of his fellow young gentlemen.

“It’s his fault, Captain!” The plaintive cry had come from one Mr. Jermyn, a young buck with approximately as much intelligence as the neckcloth that was tied improperly about his neck. “He started the fight, not I!”

“Because you were tormenting James!” Hamilton’s voice rang through the cabin. “He’s not had enough sleep for five nights running because of you, and now you would -”

“It was just a bit of fun!” Jermyn protested, and Hennessey could see the moment that Hamilton reached his breaking point.

“Fun that nearly saw him fall from the rigging!” he fumed. “ _Fun_ that -”

“Gentlemen!” Hennessey barked, and watched both miscreants jump to attention, their argument abruptly ended. “Mr. Jermyn - I will not have men dropping out of the rigging like flies, still less those who are meant to become officers in due time. You will cease interfering with anyone’s sleep, and to teach you the lesson I will assign you to the middle watch until you learn the meaning of the word tired. Mr. Hamilton -” He stopped, looking at the boy’s belligerent expression. On anyone else, it would have been intolerable - insubordinate, and irritating besides. Indeed, had the circumstances been otherwise, it might have earned even Thomas a solid dose of reality in the form of extra duties and a swift reprimand. Given that he had earned the bruise on his face in defense of a crewmate, and the boy that Hennessey considered a son, however….Hennessey sighed.

“While I appreciate your care for the safety of my crew, a fist to the face is not the proper remedy for threats to their wellbeing. You may express the same to your compatriot in the hopes that he will see fit to show some sense and refrain from retaliating. I trust cleaning every weapon in the gun-room will give you the chance to work off your frustration. You are dismissed.”

The boys turned and filed out of his cabin, and Hennessey shook his head. He was not quite sure how James had done it, but somehow he had acquired a protector in the form of Alfred Hamilton’s eldest son. They made an unlikely duo, but Hennessey could not help but be pleased. James had been a worryingly solitary boy since he had first become Hennessey’s ward. Now that he had become one of the Mids, that would have to change if he were to flourish, and a friendship with Thomas Hamilton could only be to the good, despite that particular young lord’s father.

He should have seen the problem, Hennessey thought, reaching once again for his fraying patience. He knew about James’ sense of humor - had even, on more than one occasion, encouraged the boy in his subtler attempts at getting even with his peers after the little monsters had perpetrated particularly vile crimes against him. He might have known that the addition of a certain tow-headed young rascal would only have added to James’ repertoire. Certainly, for a time he had been grateful that they had, at least, become more subtle as a pair than either of them had been alone. Punches for miscreants were exchanged for sawdust in food, ink in the offenders’ beer, and a distinctly odd style of haircut that he was sad to say was likely to become popular on shore if only because so many of the Mids were now sporting it courtesy of Messrs McGraw and Hamilton. It had been an - interesting year, certainly, and Hennessey should not have been surprised that it was ending the same way it had begun. Given Alfred Hamilton’s steadfast refusal to so much as allow his son to come home for Christmas, he might even have anticipated the sight before him. James and Thomas, after all, had grown fond of their seemingly endless and increasingly creative game of ‘Where Can Thomas Fit?’ On this occasion, however, the answer was particularly vexing.

“James Edward McGraw, what on Earth is the meaning of this?” The boy stopped, his hand still reaching forward, a look of guilt on his face such as Hennessey could seldom recall seeing there before.

“Sir,” he squeaked, and Hennessey sighed.

“Sir - it’s not James’ fault, Sir, truly -”

The muffled voice came from the large storage chest next to him, and how, in the name of God and all the Saints, had -?

No. He did not wish to know.

“Come out of there,” he sighed, and watched Thomas’ head emerge from the luggage, his blond hair askew. “Mr. Hamilton - oh, for Christ’s sake, James, help him unfold before he does himself an injury!” He watched in silence as the two boys together managed to lever Thomas’ increasingly tall form out of the chest (and good God Almighty, had the boy actually grown another few inches? At this rate, he would be forced to sleep on deck for lack of the ability to fit below the boards!)

“Did you think I would somehow fail to notice?” Hennessey asked when both boys stood before him, their faces arranged into what might otherwise have been a convincingly angelic innocence. “Were you planning on smuggling him in among the servants and smuggling him back to meet us at the docks?” The chagrin on James’ face at least told him that that had been precisely the plan.

“I told you he’d know,” James murmured accusingly, and Thomas turned an apologetic look on him.

“I wasn’t expecting you to personally help to unload, Sir!”

“Thomas -” He stopped, giving the boy a look. “What is your middle name, lad, so that I may scold you properly?”

“Nathaniel, sir.”

“Thank you. Thomas Nathaniel Hamilton, what in the blazes do you mean by stowing away in my sea chest? And where, may one enquire, are the items I packed there prior to your - rearranging?” He waved his hands toward Thomas and the sea chest, and the boy had the good grace to look sheepish.

“I am sorry, Sir. They’re all safe, I promise. They’re all even in the same place so you wouldn’t lose track of them - there’s a chest over there that had some extra room.”

Hennessey snorted.

“Very considerate, I am sure,” he said dryly. “Tell me - have either of you two amateur smugglers considered what will happen if Mr. Hamilton is summoned at any time during this holiday furlough and fails to report for duty given that he is, apparently, not planning on being in his lodgings for the duration?”

“Yes, Sir,” James answered hastily. “It’s all worked out. We’ve reported that Thomas will be staying here. I’m sorry for not asking, Sir, but Lord Ashbourne -” Hennessey held up a hand, stopping the excuse in its tracks. No wonder Hadley had wished him good luck upon his departure from the ship, the sneaking bastard. He’d known what Hennessey was about to face!

“You’ve reported Mr. Hamilton’s whereabouts?” James and Thomas both nodded, both still standing at attention, and Hennessey felt some small part of his ire melt away. Well. At least they were not idiots, not entirely, anyway.

“And I suppose you have notified Mrs. Bell?” he asked. He was clutching at straws, now, he knew it, and yet he kept at it doggedly. Surely they had not -!

“Yes, Sir!” James assured him. “I sent word ahead as soon as we landed.” The Boy’s face was earnest, hopeful, and Hennessey carefully did not smile, despite the urge to do so at the rascals’ impudence.

“So what you are telling me, gentlemen,” he asked sternly, “is that I am the only person involved in this whole affair whom you did not bother to notify?” He was wearing his very best Captain’s face, doing his utmost not to laugh, and it must have worked, because James winced at the tone of his voice, and Thomas -

Oh, great God, he had just spotted the gaping, glaring flaw in his plan, present in the form of one Thomas Hamilton, who stood, resignation and hurt on his young face, patently convinced that he was about to be sent away yet again, and why not, that having been the bulk of his experience to date?

“I’ll go, Sir,” he offered apologetically. “It was a bad idea, I know. I should have just stayed at the lodging house. I’ll -”

Hennessey felt the moment his heart broke for the lad. Damn Alfred Hamilton anyway, for his pride and his stubbornness and his fucking heartless refusal to give his own son so much as a glimmer of parental affection. He dropped the facade, rolling his eyes skyward as he silently prayed he was not about to let himself in for a month and a half of pain and suffering.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Hennessey interrupted firmly, and saw both boys’ mouths fall open. “It may have begun as an atrocious plan but you’ve carried it off well enough and even I must admire a strategy well-executed. I trust you’ve brought clothing of some kind?”

Thomas nodded somewhat hesitantly.

“Yes, sir.”

“I do not, of course, refer to the clothes on your back,” Hennessey elaborated with a raised eyebrow, and Thomas’ cheeks colored. “Heaven help us,” Hennessey murmured. “James - you will, I trust, be so good as to loan Mr. Hamilton some of your clothing until such time as we either return from furlough or he manages to grow another two inches? I’m sure the latter will occur first, but one never knows.” He clapped his hands together. “Very well! Hop to! I expect beds to be made in the mornings and no trouble for the servants, from either of you!”

The boys stared.

“Well?” he demanded. “Are we to enter the house some time this morning, or do you intend to stand there gaping at me all day?”

“Sir -” James started, and swallowed. “Thank -”

Hennessey grunted as Thomas hurled himself forward, arms outstretched, and caught him in a wholly unexpected hug.

“ _Thank you,_ ” the boy all but sobbed “You won’t regret it, Sir, I swear it -”

“Yes, yes,” Hennessey said, doing his best to extricate himself. “Oh for - you’re quite welcome. Dear God, lad, I’ve hardly done a blessed thing!” Thomas finally released him, and his cheeks colored, the sudden realization of what he had just done visibly traveling across his face.

“I’m sorry -” he started, and Hennessey waved him off.

“No, no, run along. James, I trust a room has been prepared for our guest?”

“Yessir!”

“Very well. Go and find out about dinner. I don’t know about the pair of you, but I’m famished.”

No more prompting was needed. The two ran off, chattering excitedly, and Hennessey finally allowed himself a small smile. The two were likely to eat him out of house and home by the time the holiday was ended, but it would be worth it for the look on Thomas’ face at the realization that he would not have to spend Christmas alone in the Mids’ quarters in Bristol. Hennessey quietly made a note to himself to see to the lad’s clothing and at least attempt some form of gift. A trunk of his own, perhaps. After all - he could hardly stow away in Hennessey’s on the ride back to the ship.

**Author's Note:**

> The game of "Where Can Thomas Fit?" is based on one that a friend's very tiny sister used to play, and on a boy I knew in high school, who was very tall and thin and yet had a habit of bending himself into places you wouldn't think he could possibly get into. Like lockers. And podium cabinets. He was a strange little man.


End file.
